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Cultural Migration in Autobiography Grundtvig Partnerships 2009-2011

This project has been funded with support from the European Commission. This publication reflects the views only of the author, and the Commission cannot be held responsible for any use which may be made of the information contained therein.

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107

Am Amin and The Cake of my Childhood

Ahmed Rashidi Hassan

I got used to getting up early at weekends thinking of the cake. I get up first in the house, get dressed quickly and ask my father for some money, and then hurriedly go out to meet Am Amin the cake vendor; I always tried to come there first, but unfortunately never succeeded, I don’t know why, I always find him surrounded by many kids. He stands on a round stone so that he may be taller, always dressed in white clothes, with a white coat and a white tall hat. From a distance I can hear the noise of the children, mixed voices, please, Am Amin, I was the first, please give me one more, please …please – I, please … give me the change, please… then I approach a little, led by the vanilla smell that makes me fly and land among the children; I impatiently wait for my turn, and look at Am Amin through his round shop window. I can see him slicing the cake in the big baking plate; he looks to the children with his beautiful black eyes and smiles. Now I can see better his creole skin and his smile that seems to lighten his face. I hear many stories about Am Amin; I hear that he moved in our town about seven years ago because of the war, and he has no kids, that’s why he loves kids so much. When he sees a penniless child, he gives him cakes for free. In short, he’s a pleasant but weird man; nobody ever knows his whereabouts. He would just show up in the morning with his cakes and disappear as soon as he finished. No one knows where he bakes his cakes, neither where he would have fun in the evening.

One summer night I didn’t sleep a bit, I just wanted to be the first in line at Am Amin. I left early. I was the only child in the street…but couldn’t find Am Amin. Later on the other children came one after another, like rain drops. We waited right there in the street until later that afternoon, but he didn’t show up and we didn’t know where to search for him. After three days we found out that he returned to his native town as the war was finished.